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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914572">(Don't) Fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaicantdomath/pseuds/anaicantdomath'>anaicantdomath</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Plot/Plotless, Set between S02 and S03, they’re both stupid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:15:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaicantdomath/pseuds/anaicantdomath</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has thoughts about Scott he never tells him about, and vice versa.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(Don't) Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(I'm rewatching teen wolf lol)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing about Scott was, everything seemed to be warmer when he was near. When they played video games, he felt the warm skin of his knee pressing against his own instead of the buttons of the control under his frantic fingers. When they were running away from yet another dangerous thing they had somehow achieved to survive, all he saw was his hot yellow eyes, cooked peach cheeks, and pink lips every time he looked back to smile nervously at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scott couldn't help asking over and over again with his expression if he was fine, <em>does it hurt, where should I touch for you to feel okay, and are there any other dangerous things we should be aware of?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like the way Stiles' calloused hands would slip under the short sleeves of his ripped t-shirt when they'd get to safety, unadvised. His cold fingers patting for somewhere, anywhere not covered in blood, smelling like fear and exhaustion, Scott's mind going blank for a few seconds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd snap out of it quickly, going through whatever aid kit routine he usually orchestrated, trying not to shudder when he felt Stiles' throat vibrate under his fingers, cracking up in laughter at some dumb thing he managed to let out as he patched up a wound, his veins black.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stiles would quietly ignore the warmth seeping off Scott. Just as he did every time he sat next to him, just as he did every time he walked in the same room or glanced back at him from his desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All he could do was give sly, sarcastic remarks back at Scott (to, you know, balance things out. At least a little bit). Every single one of which Scott would, obviously, take and pick apart carefully in his head. He knew he looked dumb when he did it, but his head was processing a lot of things at once when he had to drink in the sight of Stiles' pained smile and quick eyes as he spat something hotly at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, It was never mean, when he did it. Yet he knew his teeth grazing his lips held hardly any kindness, even if he wasn't the one with the fangs. He wouldn't need them anyway. He had sharp enough eyes, sharp enough mouth, sharp enough mind. Those usually went deeper than any other sharp thing, and Scott knew enough about sharp things to be aware of this with a regretful certainty.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Today, they were practicing after training. It was nothing they haven't done before. Surely something they would do for some more time, at least while they still cared about pursuing a high school career.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stiles threw a ball at Scott and Scott caught it. He didn't feel like blocking everything just now, so he didn't ignore how the ball broke through the air and leather molecules flew all around it, orbiting in the cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The weight hit the strings of the net, and he listened the polyester tensing. He affirmed his stance and threw the ball back, glancing at his friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They did this with ease, Scott catching once again-silently promising to himself he would stop doing that-the way Stiles' moles drew his face with some kind of purpose, some annoying yet harmonious coherency on their placement. He smiled at his stupid phrasing, hearing an echo of Stiles’ laughter mocking his exhaustive reading at the end of the thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stiles tried to focus on the throw and catch, when all he could focused on was how he wasn't focusing on the activity at all, but on how Scott's hot breath and warm hands felt when he handed him the stick earlier, how the trimmed grass beneath his sneakers was pulled from the ground whenever he moved harshly, and how the air was colder than he thought it would be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scott noticed him zoning out and tossed him a bottle of water. He chugged half of it and put it down by the arc, stretching his arms over his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scott turned his back to him and did the same, touching the tip of his toes afterwards. Stiles checked him out-I mean. Yeah. Of course he did. Even knowing Scott felt his eyes on him, knowing he would find a way to read the chemosignals in a completely different way, a way that couldn’t explain the first thing about what was actually going on, exposing none of them. They resumed their practice shortly after, dismissing whatever that was, knowing they could absolutely not discuss it later but could definitely act on it if they tried to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They probably wouldn’t. Either way, one of them threw a ball, again, and one of them caught it, again. They would repeat this many times, not wanting to know where the ball could fall if they didn't. Not wanting it to reach some place beyond their control, somewhere unreachable for themselves. Avoiding the fact that gravity was never something they could control anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was very short, but i hope you liked it!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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